The solution came to me as clear and loud as a KSRTC bus. It was in fact a KSRTC bus parked close by. The driver must have seen the mob, abandoned all hope and run away. The mob would reach the bus in about 30 minutes I calculated. But before that they would probably damage all the shops in the area. I knew what to do to attract them all away from the destruction and pillaging and to satiate the primordial drives that seemed to have hijacked their senses. I hurried into the bus and slowly drove it close to the junction. Then I honked twice.
"Pom Pom."
One by one the rioters stopped their frenzied rampage and walked to the bus. They were like the moths that fly towards the light in my sit out. I had run out the back door to my bike and was ready to flee at the first sign of danger. A plump middle aged lady jerked off a road divider** and smashed a window of the bus. I caught the look on her face during the act. There was pure bliss there. Others quickly followed and then some smarty put a towel in the petrol tank and lit it. The metal giant burst into flames.
Everyone gathered around the burning locomotive as if to pay last respects. Several minutes passed and yet no one moved. They dropped the weapons they held; their yearnings had been quelled, energies spent and it was time to return to their families. The mob was dispersing. I took one last look at the juggernaut that stopped for the common man, the cheap transport of the masses that always inexplicably bore the brunt of their anger, before heading back to the station. On my way I passed a fire engine and an ambulance trying to make its way to the carnage almost one and half hours after the violence had erupted.
By the time I headed back home that day I was despondent. The brush with real danger, the madness of the mob and above all the mistreatment by that wretched inspector had made me feel depressed. The worst part was that I couldn't treat myself with my usual medicine. Top Star was no more. It seems many of Gowda's other bars had also been destroyed that day. I thought I should get used to it and went to a wine shop that was on the way and bought a quarter of RC.
As I entered my house I saw Malathi sitting near the door step. She looked distraught; her eyes were moist with tears. She hugged me and whispered in between sobs, "I was so worried."
"I am OK," I said beginning to feel better already.
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**- based on an actual event
5 comments:
Nice take on the life of an otherwise rarely portrayed social being..the PC.This is probably his first riot one presumes.. :) Expletive-censoring was imaginative :P Very nice read overall...well done aliyoo.. :)
good work :), don't know how u imagined the whole thing.true third person narrative. good job.
Too much of Cartman watching :-)
1. You write dark humour well
2. You remember your Bangalorean life well :)
3. You have abundant imagination.
Manu, I am impressed. I was reminded of Aravind Adiga's Man Booker winning 'White Tiger'.
its a good read. very realistic narration
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